


A Lesson In Dancing

by candidly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dancing, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:21:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candidly/pseuds/candidly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam leaves to run an errand after the team finishes a long day working a tough job. Dean and Castiel are left painfully bored in the dingy motel room, left to the mercy of a single, ancient radio. Bored out of his wits, Dean takes up the opportunity to teach Castiel a few tricks for "the ladies".</p><p>Written to the tune of http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iuFJ5P9ung</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson In Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find this fic posted to my tumblr, right here! http://candidcatharsis.tumblr.com/post/36040426658/a-lesson-in-dancing-a-destiel-fic

It had been a long day after hunting a group of bloodthirsty rugaru harassing an unknown, nondescript town in some corner of Ohio. The motel the three boys were staying in this time was shabbier than their usual joint, with unsavory looking sheets, a rusty, rickety sink, and grease stains spread across the faded wallpaper. The television didn’t work, complete with a deep crack running through the screen and torn cables streaming from the back. All they had were a few flickering lamps and an ancient looking radio that they hadn’t even bothered to try turning on.

Dean trudged through the door first, immediately flopping down onto one of the beds, accompanied by a small cloud of dust and dirt at the sudden disturbance. He groaned loudly, rubbing his eyes and pushing his bag onto the floor. He peered around and saw Castiel quietly make his way to chair that sat beside the broken television. Out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he saw the angel frown longingly at the useless piece of electronic junk. His eyes then traveled to his brother, who was quickly picking up his laptop and sticking it into his bag, turning to walk out the door again.

Sam had a lot of reports and inquiries about the case to clear up, and this needed wi-fi. As expected, this motel didn’t offer any for the taking, but a library about half an hour away did. He didn’t stay for long, muttering an “I’ll be back soon,” before shutting the door gently behind him. Then, it was silent again.

After staring at the water-stained ceiling for what felt like an eternity in hell, Dean decided it had become a bit too quiet. He sat up and blinked a few times before focusing on the slumped over figure that was still staring, crestfallen, at the busted television in front of him. 

“Maybe your holy powers from above could bring it back to life,” Dean joked, getting to his feet. “Y’know, zap its juices back. Hell, you’ve done that for us a couple times in the past.”

“The television would certainly be unable to stand any ‘zapping’ from someone like me,” Castiel sighed, missing the sarcasm in Dean’s voice and sounding utterly defeated. 

Dean sighed, too, as he rolled his eyes and turned back toward the bed. All of a sudden, the dusty radio on the nightstand caught his eye. It flickered dimly, displaying the time (albeit off by a few hours) beneath a layer of dirt. 

“I bet this guy still works,” he said, toying with the buttons and knobs until sound suddenly burst out of the speakers. He smiled widely. “Cas, I’ve got a lot to teach you about something we like to call ‘the classics’.”

Castiel turned around and peered at Dean with a questioning expression. “Y’know, classic music. Classic rock, the stuff we always play on the road.”

“Believe me, Dean,” Cas began as he got to his feet and walked to where the other man stood, hunched over the radio and flipping through channels. “I’ve been riding with you and your brother long enough to know what exactly falls under the category of ‘classic rock’.”

Feeling slightly abashed, Dean did not look up, but could feel his cheeks burn red. Was he really that outspoken with his music? He knew the answer was a solid affirmative. Regardless, Dean kept scrolling through the channels.

“Hmph. Well, tell me if anything catches your ear then, Scrooge.”

Castiel sat down quietly on one of the beds, folding his hands upon lap and gazing at every slight movement Dean made; the twist of his long fingers turning the dial, his other hand clamped tight around the side of the small table. He watched closely as Dean’s eyebrows furrowed and his tongue fell between his teeth as he spun through each channel, trying to find a station that wasn’t all fuzz and disconnected sounds. He looked at the seams of his shirt, the folds of his collar, the distinct line of his jaw, and the shape of his soft, pink lips.

“How’s this?” Dean’s voice abruptly caught him at unawares, and the sudden turn of his face to his left him momentarily confused about where he was and what the man was saying. It took a moment for the sound of the music to register in his ears; there was little to make of it, other than the rather unpleasant sound of a male voice screaming against the loud, distorted music that accompanied it. Music, if you could call it that.

“How does this classify as music?” Castiel inquired, furrowing his brow at the shrieking noises that bleared from the speakers.

“I take it metal’s not your thing. Moving on,”

The next station produced a reedy, accented voice belonging to a woman, singing to the sound of a variety of string instruments. He recalled that Sam was particularly fond of this kind of music. Castiel himself, however, found the voice to be rather grating. Much better than the last station, however.

“This?”

“Not particularly appealing.”

“Well, don’t let Sammy ever hear you say that about any country music,” Dean chuckled, twisting the knob once more until he hit the next, relatively clear channel.

The next song was slow and tranquil. The melodic sound of a guitar strummed quietly in accordance with several other instruments that Castiel couldn’t identify, but no less created a soft, warm balance of instrumentals. The voice that sang was gentle and smooth, and was accompanied by several others in the background. Castiel felt a sudden warmth envelop in his chest as he listened closely. His ‘heart’, or whatever it was that presided in a heavenly being, such as himself, tightened. A melancholy washed over him.

Dean turned his face to Castiel, expecting another dismissal. This time, however, he saw the angel’s peculiar expression as he listened to the music. It’s about time, Dean thought. He never really thought about what music meant to an angel. Didn’t they have harps or something upstairs?

Assuming Cas was finally satisfied despite his lack of words, Dean took a seat upon the bed opposite of him, watching him carefully as they both listened to the gentle sound.

Dean watched closely as Castiel’s hands fidgeted in his lap. He saw his pale fingers entwined within each other, saw the slight clench of his jaw beneath his unshaven skin, saw the shape of his brows as they slowly relaxed from their furrowed, taut position. Dean gazed at Castiel longingly as the slow music reverberated within the dingy room.

“How much do you know about dancing?” he suddenly uttered, swallowing hard. Why the hell did he just ask that?

“Uh,” He saw Castiel snap out of his stupor almost immediately, and watched as the angel gathered his wits enough to respond. “Not very much.”

“C’mon, Cas. Are you telling me angels never dance?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I… just never took part in any dancing, myself.”

“What, were you too cool to let loose for just a little while, even up there?”

“Dean-”

“I’m gonna teach you a few moves, Cas. This song’s perfect for the job.”

Dean quickly rose to his feet and smiled despite how furiously his heart was beating. He could feel the warmth return to his cheeks again as he grabbed Castiel’s hand and pulled him to his feet. The two stood face to face with the music still humming in the background.

“Alright, give me your hands,” he muttered awkwardly, grabbing at the cuffs of Castiel’s trench coat until he felt the warmth of his skin against his own. Swallowing hard once more, he grasped them and gently pulled them to his hips. All the while, Cas did not utter a single sound.

“You’ve got to keep your hands right here. Chicks totally dig it. Don’t get too frisky though, ‘cause they might kick you where no man wants to be kicked.”

“Dean, this is childish-”

“Now, watch what I do with my hands,” Dean instructed with an attempt at a reassuring nod, slowly raising his arms and placing them around the back of Castiel’s neck. He could almost feel an indescribable jolt pass through the other man’s skin upon contact; his heart skipped a beat.

“S-so now I… er, yeah, now I just cling on like this and, uh. Well, then we start moving. Just, uh, watch closely and step with the beat of the music. Slowly, now,” Dean didn’t dare look at Castiel’s face; his own cheeks must’ve turned a deep scarlet on the outside by now, he thought. Hell, his whole face felt like it was on fire. Instead, he opted to look down at his tie, which, unsurprisingly, was on backwards. He valiantly fought to suppress a giggle.

Securing his latched hands once more, Dean began to move very slowly and very carefully, making sure the slow rhythm of the song was in tune with each step. It didn’t take long for Castiel to pick up the idea, and he, too, began to move. The tips of their shoes collided a few times, but otherwise, the two men were successfully swaying to the music that enveloped the motel room.

“See,” Dean whispered, finally daring to look down at the angel’s face. They locked their gaze almost immediately in the dimly lit room, and suddenly, every trouble, every drop of blood spilt, every life lost, and every single heartbreak the two had encountered was forgotten.

It was just the two of them, now. Dean and Castiel, drawing closer and closer together with every step they took. Dean was lost in how beautiful the small smile etched on Castiel’s face was, and found himself grinning widely as they danced in small, lazy circles in the space between the beds. 

This was pleasant. This was nice. A change most welcome. The warmth of Castiel’s hands could be felt through the fabric of Dean’s shirt, and the heat of his neck traveled through his hands and back to his heart. They were but a few inches apart now, and though the song was close to ending, they continued to float about the small space together. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if this is how the final dance of a prom felt like. If so, he missed out, big time.

“Is this really how people normally dance?” Castiel whispered as Dean brought his forehead to his own, their faces barely an inch apart. He tried to swallow. “We’re just walking in circles.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean muttered, barely paying attention to a single word he was saying. He was too focused on the shape of Castiel’s lips. “We’re all just weird like that, I guess.”

Before Cas could further comment, however, Dean tenderly pressed his lips to his mouth, tightening his hands behind his neck. His own grip on Dean’s hips faltered at the sudden kiss, and his arms fell helplessly to his sides.

The kiss stretched on for what felt like an eternity in paradise before Dean finally pulled away.

“Um,” Castiel blinked rapidly, looking at the crooked smile on his face that always took his breath away. “Thank you for… the lessons.”

“Anytime.”


End file.
